


Moral Hazard

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dinner, Gen, Humor, Insurance, Scrooge doesn't understand how Spoonerville hasn't been levelled yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: Donald helps Scrooge understand Spoonerville Insurance's basic concepts. He wishes he hadn't.





	Moral Hazard

“It appears Mr. McDuck is upset.”

An intended understatement, Donald presumed.

Setting the porcelain dishes on the dining room table, he watched carefully as the muscled housekeeper shrugged, making the unanimous decision that it was best to leave her disgruntled employer to his devices.

The door slam’s echo flounced its way in their vicinity, and Donald stared, sensing this tantrum was different yet similar to the ones he’d grown up with.

Experience taught him it was in his best interests to maintain a respectable distance. Whatever poor deal Scrooge encountered during the day was none of Donald’s business, placing the last plate on the table, Donald rounded the corner to return make it to the private theater, to wait it out until dinner.

Walking away, a clearing cough called to him from from the adjacent kitchen. Gazing in the direction the cough originated, he met Mrs. Beakley's steady stare, “Will you please inform Mr. McDuck dinner will be ready soon."

Despite his attempt to portray a mature disposition, Donald whined, "Why me?"

“Because,” she answered flatly, “I’m nearly done with dinner, and I don’t find it appropriate having to pull the sulking man out of his office yet again,” her stare rolled back to him, “now, inform him dinner will be ready, and the family will be waiting for him.”

He opened his mouth to protest but realized whatever he intended to say would produce the opposite result. Changing his course, he grumbled, "Fine, but if I get smacked with a stapler, it’s on you!”

Scottish Gaelic swears tangled in anger clanged together like a spoon on a metal pan up the corridor. Great. He was in a bad mood. He started the short walk to his uncle’s office, wondering if it was possible for him to minimize the damage. His pessimism warned him avoidance wasn't an option.

 _“Mhac na galla!”_ Donald winced, hand raised to knock, “Ae cannae believe this! Cannae, but of course, this is what Ae should expect!”

He could go downstairs. He could tell Beakley Uncle Scrooge was simply too busy to be disturbed right now. He’d comfort the kids, reminding them their great uncle was an extraordinarily busy businessman.

But Donald imagined Beakley’s unconvinced stare. He imagined the kids’ disappointed faces. He sighed, hanging his head, and knocked three times.

“Wot is it?” The door swung open, “Donnae ye’ knae Ae’ve got work ta do!”

“Dinner’s ready.”

Scrooge glanced at his empty hands, “Where is it?”

“I’m not sending anything to your office.” A vein throbbed above his temple, “And if you think Beakley’s gonna send it to your office,” he scoffed, “sorry to disappoint ya’ bub.”

Task completed, Donald began to walk away to ease his grumbling stomach.

“Wait.”

He groaned, refusing to face his uncle, “What?”

“Maybe,” Scrooge contemplated aloud, finger under his chin, “maybe ye’ can help me with something. Ae need an objective third party, and yer not entirely useless.”

Donald’s right eye twitched. His smacked his face with his hand, “Fine,” he bit, “but no more than ten minutes, I actually _enjoy_ eating dinner with family.”

Scrooge’s partially offended reaction left him blank. He walked into his office, trying to withhold his annoyance, “Ae’m warnin’ ye, nephew.”

“Yeah, yeah, good sharp one to my tush,” Donald crossed his arms, “what do you want me to see?”

He stared dumbly at his uncle’s desk, wondering in what universe this was considered normal or acceptable. Scrooge McDuck was an organized man, an orderly man, but apparently, he too was an occasional victim of mid year reports.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stand there like a doddering old fool?” Snapping, he pointed his cane to his desk, “Read the reports, tell me what ye find!”

“Are you sure -,”

Scrooge rolled his eyes,“The boys informed me ye finished your schoolin' in accounting,” setting his cane back to the carpet, “Ae want ta’ know if ye can apply what ye’ve learned.”

Reluctance read clearly on Donald’s narrow eyed stare. He glanced at the desk, at Uncle Scrooge, to the desk, then back at Scrooge again. He could reason the kids were waiting for him. He could reason Beakley was expecting both of them, not just one or the other.

But Donald stared at Scrooge’s expression. The aged, unyielding scowl he was infamous for, and sighed, “Oh alright,” he chose a random stack, “lets see what you’ve got.”

Numbers was what Scrooge had. A lot of numbers. So many numbers Donald’s head spun painfully, and tension started to drum underneath his eyelids. Seated in one of the over-sized chairs, his back was lurched forward into the seventy-fifth report.

“I don’t understand.” Donald sputtered, pushing his back into the chair, “You’re telling me this is one of the safest cities in the world with the lowest crime percentage in the country, but the insurance claims are through the roof?”

Idly sitting in the opposite chair, Uncle Scrooge’s smug grin broadened, “Aye, had me board draw up the mid year reports, and as expected, it’s up 75% from last year.”

“How is that possible?”

“Yer reading the reports, aren’t ye?” Scrooge glared, “Ye’ tell me!”

“I am reading them!” Donald waved one in his face, “You’re telling me some bub flung himself from the local renaissance fair into a bank causing 1.5 mil in damages? What was he doing?”

“Apparently, it was a jousting competition,” Scrooge shrugged, “he had taken over for the original jouster, who was injured in an unrelated incident.”

Donald grabbed another report, “Property damage to an entire apartment complex,” incredulity painted his gaze, “all because of his - what, sneezing?

“He had a cold.”

“He had a cold?

“He had a cold.”

It made no sense. None of it made any sense. Donald threw the papers back onto the desk, “I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it, nephew,” Scrooge chuckled wearily. Donald’s frustration had transformed Uncle Scrooge’s ire into amusement, “And it’s costin’ the insurance industry money.”

A simple concept, really. The bank, apartment complex, and the numerous businesses had put their insurance claims to work, but rarely, if ever, did the individual responsible for these incidents did so.

Reading a January report, Donald discovered the individual had made a claim on their house insurance, and was required to pay a relatively modest deductible considering the damage to their home. Still in shock, Donald asked his uncle the only question he could think of, “Where are these incidents taking place?”

“Spoonerville,” Scrooge grumbled, “insurance capital of the world.”

It was as if a bucket of a ice cold water was thrown to his face.

Donald gulped, “Spoonerville?”

“Ae knae ye heard me the first time?” Scrooge studied him, “Wot of it? Wot’s goin’ on in yer head, Donald?”

He could tell him the truth. After reading the reports, the many incidents, the desire to confide in his uncle was palpable, and yet, the truth throbbed pitifully in his throat.

“Ae cannae believe one man is responsible for this amount of destruction."

“Seriously?”

“Wot?” He pointed to himself, “Ae can afford the damages, th - this dog is costing the insurance industry more than fifty fortunes every day, and let's not get into the first half of the year’s report!”

Donald raised his palm to stop him, “That’s what insurance is for, Scrooge,” shaking his head, he stood, dropping the papers on the floor, “seems the city of Spoonerville has gotten used to them, from what I can tell the Goofs have been living there for generations.”

“And unfortunately for us, the son has moved to Duckburg for college.”

“Are you sure it isn’t unfortunate for him?”

“Why?”

His beak twisted, “Eh, Funso’s Funzone’s mascot was attacked during a Beagle Boy kidnapping attempt two weeks ago.”

“And wot of it?” Scrooge waved him off, “The children were nearly kidnapped due ta’ their negligence,” his scowl deepened, “they were wise ta’ hush it all up.”

Donald's intuition was right. Honesty wasn’t an option.

Scrooge stood, making his way back to his desk, “Go on, nephew, Ae’ll clean this up.”

“And dinner?”

“Oh.” He blinked, “Ae think Beakley may come and get me,” he nodded, shooing him out with renewed energy, “yes, yes, if she does come, Duckworth will be here. Go on, go on.”

The door shut quietly behind him.

Back in the corridor, Donald stood blank faced and light headed. He saw numbers - endless zeroes floating in front of his vision, and stumbled to the dining room where Mrs. Beakley and the kids greeted him. He brushed her annoyed expression with an exhausted scowl of his own.

“What? We were discussing insurance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Goof Troop was my Disney afternoon show. It came before DuckTales. Getting confirmation Spoonerville is the insurance capital of the world due to one accident prone resident made me happy. 
> 
> I don't think Scrooge could accept that one man could be responsible for this amount of damage without the additional circumstances, similar to the ones he has.


End file.
